Grabbing an oncoming zombie by the hair he whipped it around forcefully and bent it over the chair. It flailed and clawed and hollered for brains but trout, showing adept skill and confidence, rendered it into the carnal receiving position with minor effort.

It’s pants were old and musty and ridden with dry rot. He ripped them off like paper, angling the already well-lubricated love tool into it’s clammy gray rectum. “You chose the wrong guy to **** with!” he said running the length of his tongue up it’s withered nape and into what had remained of it’s ear.